


Allies

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [65]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flowerfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flowerfell Sans (Undertale), Frisk: The One Who Can Make the Toughest Monsters in the Underground Soft, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Grillby (Undertale), Protective Sans (Undertale), Underfell Grillby (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Veteran Grillby (Undertale), hurt frisk, they are soft for Frisk and only Frisk, they said 'you hurt this kid I kill you', they're a little overzealous but they got the spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24424699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Frisk is hurt and Sans can't fix it. He can't let them die so he has to find help.If only there were someone who was really good at patching up battle wounds who Sans could trust.
Relationships: Frisk & Sans (Undertale), Grillby & Frisk, Grillby & Sans (Undertale)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [65]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	Allies

**Author's Note:**

> no i didn't frantically message my gf asking what color underfell grillby blushes and then decide i was too impatient to wait for an answer what are you TALKING about
> 
> also please lemme know what YOU think the color should be cause I've seen white and blue and lighter purple???
> 
> Edit: I consulted with my gf and she informed me that darker purple and orange are the only options so

Fandom: Undertale

Prompt: “You are _not_ fine!”

* * *

They’re so _small._

Sans knows he isn’t in any position to talk; he’s one of the shortest monsters in the Underground and he’s only got 1HP, not that Papyrus ever let him forget it. But he’s got magic. He knows how to handle himself in a fight. And if worst comes to worst, he can teleport the fuck away from anything that wants to turn him to dust. Plus, he knows as well as anyone that size doesn’t really matter when you’re packing enough power to obliterate a small town if you really want to.

The kid, on the other hand, didn’t have anything to defend themselves with other than a small stick. They couldn’t run away like Sans could, and they sure as hell weren’t about to fight. They stood their ground when they really wanted to, sure, but they’d be killed in an instant if a monster _really_ wanted them dead. Unfortunately for them, that was most monsters.

Sans curses as he scoops them up into his arms, turning away from the sentry station and opening up a shortcut to their hidden cavern in Waterfall. He hadn’t meant to yell, honest he hadn’t. He definitely hadn’t meant to scare them so badly. He just…he’d been so _worried_ about Papyrus coming out to the RUINS to look for him that when he heard Papyrus coming down the trail, he’d made up some nonsense about killing another monster and yelled it into the trees, knowing it would make Papyrus focus on the dusty scarf he’d tossed into the breeze, not the small bundle of blanket tucked beneath the sentry station. Papyrus left him with a ‘WELL DONE, BROTHER,’ and Sans had breathed a sigh of relief. Then he noticed the blanket was shaking.

“we’re almost there, sweetheart,” he says, cradling them against him as he hustles to the first aid kit, “just hang on, okay? we’ll get you nice and warmed up, i’m sorry…”

They’re shaking. Why are they shaking so much? Did he really scare them _that_ badly?

As it turns out, no, that’s not the problem. They’re shaking, yes, but when Sans tries to move their arms so he can press the warm pack to their chest, their hand comes away warm and sticky.

“…no…”

Sans all but rips his hands away, reaching desperately for the bandages, trying to get pressure on the wound, get it fixed up before it gets worse. But when he lifts their shirt to look at it, his SOUL drops to the pit of his stomach. There’s so much blood. There’s _so_ much blood.

“shit, kid, i’m so sorry, okay, we gotta—we gotta get you patched up—“

_I’m fine._

“you are _not_ fine, come on, no time to be stubborn, sweetheart—“

They try and stop him, wrapping their little hands around his, ignoring the blood now staining his bones. His SOUL clenches.

“i know you’ll come back, sweetheart,” he says, “but that’s gonna fucking _hurt._ and then you’ll have more flowers. please, sweetheart, lemme help?”

The instant they nod their head, Sans tries using BLUE magic to apply pressure to the wound while he fumbles with the bandages but it’s not working. It’s too big. If they don’t close it soon, it might get infected or they’ll bleed out. Sans curses. There’s only one person he can trust that will know what to do. He makes sure the BLUE magic is doing as much as possible and shoves a few bandages into the pocket of his hoodie before scooping them up again.

“hang on, sweetheart, we’re gonna go see someone who can help.”

Grillby’s bar is deserted. It’s too early for the place to be open for dinner and too late for the last of the lunchtime crowd. Sans takes the shortcut directly to the back of the place, banging on the door.

“grillbz! open up!”

“What do you want, Sans, this’d better be…” Grillby trails off when he sees the child lying limp and bloodstained in Sans’ arms. “Inside. Now.”

Sans follows Grillby inside, barely blinking when the fire monster directs him to lay them out on the table in the corner.

“Try and get their sweater off,” Grillby instructs, opening cupboards and taking out bottles Sans couldn’t _hope_ to recognize, “we need to seal the wound before we do anything else.”

“you’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” Sans mutters, peeling the sweater away from their shaking chest. Luckily, because of Grillby, the room is plenty warm enough that they don’t shiver when their sweater comes off. “it’s just grillby, he’s gonna help.”

Grillby bustles back over to the table, setting down three bottles on one side and a pack of something on the other. He unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up, amethyst flames flickering in the dim room. He motions to Sans.

“Stand by their head. You don’t happen to have mesmerizing up your sleeve, do you?”

“what? nah.”

Grillby mutters a curse under his breath. “Then you’re gonna have to hold them still. This is gonna _hurt._ ”

Sans gulps but does as he’s told, tightening his grip on the kid’s SOUL and pressing them to the table. Their head jerks once before it’s forced to still, a few golden petals falling away.

“shh, shh,” Sans says, watching warily as Grillby raises his hand and it burns hotter, “it’s okay sweetheart, you gotta be strong, okay?”

Their little jaw wobbles for an instant then sets. Their chin juts up and they squeeze their little hands into fists. Sans’ SOUL flips but he holds them steady. He looks up and gives Grillby a nod.

Grillby presses his hand against the wound.

The child jerks in Sans’ hold, their DETERMINATION fighting against his magic, instinctively trying to get away from the pain. A few more petals drift down. The sounds only last for a moment before Grillby pulls his hand away, leaving their skin blistered, red and angry but closed. He turns and takes one of the bottles, pouring some onto a rag and starting to dab at the skin.

“shh, shh,” Sans murmurs, releasing the death grip he’d had on the child’s SOUL, stroking the parts of the face uncovered by flowers, “you did so good, sweetheart, it’s over. you didn’t even cry out, you did great.”

Sans keeps up the litany of reassurances, still running his fingers over their cheek, watching as Grillby finished with the first bottle and moved on to the next, combining it and the contents of a small jar in a bowl before carefully smoothing it on. The child hisses lightly when his fingers make contact, but doesn’t try to move away from it. Grillby’s brow furrows as he works, doing his best to make the coat even. It’s times like this that his military history shines clear; the precision and business-like way he moves speaks volumes.

Finally, Grillby pulls out his own bandages and carefully tapes one over the wound, making sure there’s no air bubble or wrinkle to be found. He takes a wipe and runs it over the surrounding skin, clearing up the dried blood and sweat.

“That should be good,” he says, “you got them to me before any infection could take hold. As long as they _rest,_ and don’t do anything too strenuous, they’ll be fine.”

“thanks, grillby,” Sans says, “i owe you one.”

Grillby shakes his head. “No, you don’t. I told you last time, I pay my debts. This one wasn’t to you.”

The child stirs under Sans’ hands, but when he goes to help them sit up, they can’t. They just fall back to the table, a tiny whimper escaping when their side twists. Sans freezes, Grillby doing the same, both anxiously watching as they shift themselves until they’re back to where they were.

“They really shouldn’t be moving,” Grillby mutters, closing one of the cabinets and moving to get the rest, only to pause when the child looks up at the hand hovering near their face. “I’m not going to burn you, lie still.”

Seeing the kid like this, so _small,_ so vulnerable, it makes Sans’ SOUL clench. The sight of another monster leaning over them is enough to make him want to summon a blaster but…it’s just Grillby.

He watches as Grillby stands completely still, watching the child fidget with their hands. Then he slides the jar out of the way and grabs another wipe. Reaching down, he carefully takes one of their hands in his, their little fingers almost swallowed completely by the purple flames. They startle a little when he first makes contact, but then their shoulders slump, leaning a little closer. Grillby’s movements are still precise and confident, but there’s a tenderness to them now, a gentleness in the way he cradles their little hand in his much larger one, cleaning off the blood. He repeats the process with another wipe on their other hand. The child just lies there, still under his ministrations.

When he pulls away, another tiny noise escapes the child’s lips and they sit up slightly, reaching for him. Grillby stops, glancing over his shoulder at the trash can, then carefully reaches back and lets the child lace their fingers through his hand. Leaning over, he tosses the wipes away, never letting go, and coming back to watch the child run their hands curiously over his. He turns it this way and that, letting them explore, an adorable little frown coming to their face as they think. They look up at him and sign something Sans can’t quite make out.

“Yes,” Grillby says quietly, “my hand is made of fire. All of me is.”

They sign something else.

“No. I can only burn something when I want to. And I told you, I’m not going to burn you.”

They sign something else and Grillby’s flames turn a darker purple.

“I, uh…I’m sorry you can’t see.” Grillby shoots a look over his shoulder at Sans and Sans has to stifle a giggle. Fearsome Grillby, all flustered at the attention of a small child.

The kiddo waves to get his attention and signs something. Grillby’s flush recedes, carefully laying his other hand on their knee. “You’re welcome, kid.”

They stay like that until the kid’s head droops and Grillby quickly catches it, laying them carefully back down. Then he looks at Sans and they both realize what’s happened. Grillby can’t move his hand without waking them up, and odds are if they wake up, it’s gonna be really hard to get them back to sleep.

“here,” Sans mutters, coming closer, “we’ll switch. real quick, they won’t even notice.”

“Yeah, they will,” Grillby sighs, glancing around. “They’re going to wake up sore if they sleep here.”

The fire monster gives Sans a once-over before jerking his head toward the ceiling.

“You can stay while they rest. I’ve got couches upstairs.”

Sans blinks, not expecting the fire monster to make an offer like that. Truth be told, he hadn’t been sure they wouldn’t be turned away at the door. But he nods and helps Grillby lift the kid up, walking upstairs and laying them carefully on the nearest couch, Grillby putting a pillow under their head, Sans grabbing a blanket and draping it over them.

“The wound had flowers growing in it,” Grillby mutters as they watch the child sleep. “I burned away the ones I could.”

“shit,” Sans mutters, scratching the back of his head, “you don’t think they’ll grow _through_ it, do ya?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Grillby sits down on a chair across from the couch and motions for Sans to do the same. “I don’t know.”

Sans glances at Grillby. “alright, spill. you ain’t this charitable. and you saying you ‘pay your debts’ don’t explain this much. what’s your angle?”

Grillby meets his gaze easily. “You’re one to talk. I’ve never seen you stick your neck out for anything that wasn’t Papyrus or a good drink. And you’re falling all over yourself to help this kid.”

They both look back at the sleeping child.

“Was that what happened to you,” Grillby asks quietly, looking down at his hands, “did they make you…”

Sans knows what he’s talking about. It’s the same flip in his SOUL when they told him he makes them feel safe. The same way their touch doesn’t _burn_ like all the other times someone’s tried to touch him without the intent to hurt. He saw the same look on Grillby’s face when they held his hand.

“yeah.”

Grillby just nods, the charm around his neck swinging gently.

“If someone hurts them again,” he says finally, breaking the silence, “I’ll burn them alive.”

A dark chuckle escapes Sans’ throat. “you ain’t gonna do it without me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


End file.
